


ever by your side

by Chisotahn



Series: that call only we can hear [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:20:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24762235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chisotahn/pseuds/Chisotahn
Summary: Alistair isn't the only one prone to stupid impulses, it turns out. In the aftermath of the Landsmeet, Lyra Cousland wrestles with her heart.
Relationships: Alistair/Female Cousland (Dragon Age)
Series: that call only we can hear [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1791985
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	ever by your side

_ Denerim, right after the Landsmeet _

Lyra couldn't sleep.

It was absurd, really - she'd managed to doze off in far worse places than this, with nothing to sleep on but rocks. Arl Eamon's Denerim estate was beautifully appointed, and the bed was the softest thing she'd slept on since she'd fled Highever.

Maybe that was it. It was too soft, and she just hadn't noticed last night. Clearly, her travels had hardened her, and she was no longer a woman who needed plush feather-stuffed beds. Lyra pulled her pillow and most of the bed linens down to the floor, where Bodhran looked up at her quizzically, tilting his head this way and that. "It's fine, Bodhri. Good boy," she murmured, running one hand over his blunt head. The mabari huffed and repositioned himself to take a corner of the bedding-nest Lyra had made, just as he would when they camped.

Lyra stared up at the ceiling again, absently stroking Bodhri's side. Sleep felt no nearer from this vantage point. It had been a long, exhausting day, culminating in the most ill-advised, absurd thing she'd ever done. At the time, she'd been flying high on adrenaline, justice and vengeance mingling in her veins. It hadn't felt foolish until afterwards, looking at the sheer fury in Anora's eyes as the guards took her away. And then there were distractions, arls and banns to speak with and thank, her people to reassure, and the satisfaction of Loghain's lifeblood spilled on the floor.

She hadn't had time to think. Not really. Not until now, back at Arl Eamon's estate, where that worthy had urged them to rest before whisking Alistair away for assuming-the-throne things, probably.

And Lyra had been staring, sleepless, at the ceiling of her bedroom ever since. Thinking too hard. She realized that her hand was trembling a little and forced herself to rest it on her mabari's side, focusing on the rise and fall of his breathing.

It felt a bit like that first night after Ostagar, camped on the outskirts of Lothering. Just the four of them, her and Bodhran and Alistair and Morrigan, the two Gray Wardens' tents pitched almost against each other, as if even the fabric wanted comfort.

She hadn't known him well enough, not then - hadn't known any of them, except of course for Bodhri, and she'd spent a fair part of the night with her arms around the mabari's thick neck, trying to figure out how she was still here. How she'd survived anything - the massacre at Highever, the Joining, Ostagar. So many things had needed to go precisely right for her to have been in that tent, clinging to Bodhran like he was an anchor. Her death had been all but assured, multiple times.

Yet there she'd been.

And here she was, feeling much the same, staggering under the weight of might-have-beens. She took a deep breath and tried to steady herself. She wasn't the same woman she'd been that night outside Lothering. She'd been seasoned since, tempered in flame.

It was high time she confronted her worries, instead of being a coward about it. 

Lyra stood, letting the bed linens fall where they would, and picked up the light robe one of the servants had left neatly folded on one of the chairs by the banked fire. It was a lady's finery, and the silk snagged on the rough calluses on her fingers as she shrugged into the robe and drew it around her. "I'll be back soon," she told Bodhran; he flicked an ear at her and rolled over, appropriating more of the bedding-nest for himself.

Shaking her head, Lyra opened the door to her chamber, moving slowly to keep the hinges quiet. The hallways were silent, lit only by the high-up braziers; she wasn't sure what time it was, but the manor seemed wrapped in sleep. She walked down the hallway as quietly as she could, hoping against hope to sneak past Zevran's room without waking him, a difficult proposition in the best of times.

So focused was she on being quiet that the sudden appearance of a shadowy figure emerging from around the next corner nearly startled a yelp out of her. She swallowed it, hard, and only a strangled noise escaped her throat. The other person startled too, bumping against the hallway wall with a thump.

"I'm sorry- _ oh _ , it's you," came Alistair's relieved sigh. "Hey, now, nothing's wrong, you can go back in there," he added, squinting over Lyra's shoulder; she turned to see Zevran's door open just a crack. "Just, you know. Us stuff. Me and Lyra stuff. That."

Zevran opened his door just wide enough for Lyra to see his face before rolling his eyes theatrically and closing the door again.

"Maker's breath, you scared me," Lyra hissed, grabbing Alistair by the upper arm. "What are you doing out here?"

"I could ask you the same thing - ow, not so hard," he winced as Lyra tightened her grip. "Can we at least have this conversation in, say, your chamber? Somewhere without a potential audience?" He shot Leliana's door a suspicious look.

"That was what I was thinking, yes," Lyra sighed, relieved to see him despite everything. They retreated to her chamber; Bodhran lifted his head as Alistair entered, growling a little. "Oh, come off it, you know him," she informed the mabari, who quieted and put his head down on his paws.

Once she'd secured the door behind them, Lyra turned to see Alistair grinning at her, his eyes bright with amusement. "What?" she said, folding her arms over her chest.

"You were coming to see me, weren't you," he said, in his most infuriatingly  _ charming _ tone.

"You were doing the same thing, unless I miss my guess," Lyra huffed. "Unless you forgot there's a chamber pot under that fancy bed?"

"No, no, I remembered that." Alistair’s smug expression fell into something more sheepish. "Would it be silly to say I missed you?"

"Not at all," Lyra admitted, moving to sit in one of the chairs by the fire, gesturing for Alistair to take the other. "That sounds accurate. For me, too."

"As long as we're on the same page," Alistair said, giving her a lopsided smile as he sat down. By the firelight, she could see he was wearing a night robe too, though his was made of sterner stuff than her delicate silk. He also looked exhausted.

"Couldn't sleep?" Lyra said, quietly, reaching one hand out for his, lacing their fingers together.

"Hmm." He looked at their entwined hands for a moment, then looked up at her, his expression uncharacteristically serious. "Arl Eamon filled my head with... fatherly wisdom, I suppose, but it feels like it went in one ear and out the other. My mind's gone to mush." He turned to look at the banked fire, pensive. "We really did just... do that, didn't we?"

"We did.  _ You _ did," Lyra confirmed, squeezing his hand. "You knew the Landsmeet could go this way."

"I know  _ I  _ could go this way," Alistair corrected, focusing on her again. "As if Arl Eamon would let me forget for one moment who I- er, who my father was. I’m working out how I feel about it, if I’m honest. The vengeance part was… that was good,” he said, firmly.

Then his words sped up, a tell-tale sign of nervousness. “I admit, though, I wasn't expecting the rest of it. But I like the idea! I mean it. As long as you… aren’t having second thoughts?” 

He looked so achingly vulnerable in that moment that Lyra felt sick all over again. It had been so,  _ so _ foolish - a nearly intolerable risk, in the charged atmosphere of the Landsmeet. It would have been far too easy for their enemies to view it as a grab for power, as Anora so clearly had. Everything could have fallen apart, and Lyra wasn’t quite sure how it hadn’t. 

Alistair was staring at her, brow furrowing a little more with concern for every second she was silent. “No,” she said, hurriedly. “Not about you.  _ Never _ about you. I just… it was absurd, what I did. Idiotic. Ridiculous.”

“Which part? Supporting my claim to the throne? Sentencing Loghain?” He looked perplexed.

“No!" Lyra clenched her free hand into a fist, aggravated at herself for making this harder than it needed to be. “Asking for a throne next to yours, without a word to anyone!” 

Alistair shifted closer to her, sitting on the edge of his chair. "I didn't think it was about thrones. Not when you said it, and not now."

Lyra let out a long breath. "It wasn't," she admitted, letting him take her free hand in his. "But I'm a Cousland, and all my life I've been taught how to manage politics. How to think less about what I want in favor of what benefits those under my charge. I should have done that tonight. But I didn’t.”

"I know what you mean," Alistair said quietly. "Not for the same reason, of course, but isn't being a Grey Warden also about that? Sacrificing what you want for other people?"

She squeezed his hands tightly, abruptly, making him wince. "I was done sacrificing," she said, quickly. "All I could think of was... in that moment, I..." She took a deep breath. "I didn't want to see anyone else on a throne next to yours," she admitted, in a rush of heat. "Not Anora, not some advantageous political match, not... not anyone. Only me."

Alistair released her hands; a moment later, his warm, rough palms pressed against her cheeks, gently tilting her head up. He'd moved to one knee in front of her, his eyes bright with emotion. "It was unbelievably foolish," Lyra blurted out, even as she leaned into his touch. "Everything could have gone wrong because I was selfish. The entire Landsmeet could have dissolved into chaos right there and all our work would have been for nothing."

"It didn't," Alistair said, gently stroking a thumb down the line of her jaw. "It _ didn't, _ Lyra."

"And I didn't even ask you ahead of time, let’s not forget that part!” 

"I'd wager you didn't know you were going to do it until the moment it happened," Alistair replied, with a wry chuckle. "My firebrand. I told you I liked the idea. Rather, er… rather more than that, actually." His voice roughened. "I would have done my best as king, no matter what, but knowing I can do it with you by my side… well, that makes it feel like something I can do happily. Without regrets."

The look of sheer adoration and gratitude in his eyes broke something in her. Lyra leaned in to kiss him, pulling him close, and felt the fear and the might-have-beens shatter into dust. Alistair’s mouth was soft under hers, and oh, she would  _ never _ tire of the way his breath hitched in surprised delight every time she kissed him first. Would he always do that? Maker, she hoped so.

"I know... there's still the Blight," she whispered as they parted enough for her to speak. "I know there's no guarantee any of us will survive it, and yet... I can't help but think about after. About getting to be really, properly selfish." She captured his lips in another kiss, deep and sweet, and something in her shivered with joy despite the dark shadow that loomed between this moment and that one.

He chuckled, low in his throat. "I think by then we'll have earned a little bit of selfishness," he murmured, resting his forehead against hers.

"My King," she said, and laughed when she felt his grimace. "You'll have to get used to that, you know."

"My Queen," he replied, voice going husky as he said it, and Lyra shivered. "Oh, you like that, do you?"

"When you say it? Very much," Lyra murmured, pulling back just enough to cup his cheek in one hand. His eyes half-closed, and he leaned into her touch, so sweetly pliant that it sent another pleased shiver down her spine. She felt him smile against her hand; he turned his head to press a kiss into the center of her palm. "Come to bed," she managed, digging the fingers of her other hand into his shoulder, tugging at his robe.

"As my queen commands," he said, and she nearly pulled him off his feet with eagerness. 

**Author's Note:**

> *crashes into fandom eleven years late* hello! 
> 
> I wasn't actually intending to write anything when my wife suggested we catch up on our game backlog during quarantine, but here we are anyway. Thank you for reading!


End file.
